


Surprises, Sweet And Otherwise

by Firalla11



Series: Dreamwidth Transfers [9]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Baking, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/pseuds/Firalla11
Summary: “You have– how did you get flour in yourhair?”“Would you believe me if I told you our mixer is possessed?”





	Surprises, Sweet And Otherwise

**Author's Note:**

> This is titled on DW as 'Baking Misadventure' and you know what? I think that's everything you need to know.

Nick drops onto the stool with a sigh, resting his elbows on the counter. He winces as he looks around. The kitchen is a disaster, and that’s putting it mildly. The counter is covered in flour, there’s a pile of dishes stacked high in the sink, and the room still smells of burning sugar. He should open a window and start cleaning up, probably, but he thinks he’s earned a minute to wallow now that’s he dumped the scorched cookies in the trash.  
  
It’s a minute he’s not going to get.  
  
Nick stifles a groan as he hears the front door open.  
  
He shouldn’t be surprised, he guesses. He tried to time it right, make it so the cookies would still be warm when Brandon got back, and they probably are, but they’re also completely inedible, so.  
  
“Nick?”  
  
“Kitchen,” Nick calls back, and he turns in his seat as Brandon’s footsteps get louder. He bites is lip as Brandon comes in, as he blinks and takes in the mess before finally turning to Nick.  
  
“What happened in here?”  
  
“Nothing?” Nick tries, as Brandon joins him at the counter.  
  
Brandon nods slowly, then pauses, his lips twitching as he reaches up. “You have– how did you get flour in your _hair?”_  
  
“Would you believe me if I told you our mixer is possessed?”  
  
Brandon snorts, gaze flicking to his left, to the worst of the flour coverage. “I, uh. Could probably be convinced.” He tilts his head. “What’s all this about anyway, huh?”  
  
Nick sighs. “I wanted to surprise you.”  
  
“You did,” Brandon says, nearly straight-faced. “I’m, uh, very surprised?”  
  
“I bet,” Nick says, tone desert dry. He sighs. “You make it look so _easy.”_  
  
It never matters what Brandon bakes, it all comes out perfectly done, with what, to Nick, looks like barely any effort.  
  
“‘Cause I’ve been baking forever,” Brandon says, nudging him gently. “It’s practice, Ledpipe.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He guesses that’s true, even though he _thought_ he followed the recipe, but. Maybe, maybe not. After the flour incident who knows if he missed something. He definitely missed taking the cookies out when he should have. Ugh.  
  
Brandon nudges him again. He’s grinning faintly, but not at Nick’s expense.  
  
Nick loves him a lot.  
  
“Want to try again?”  
  
Nick hesitates. “Think the kitchen can handle another round?” He’s– only half-joking.  
  
“Bet it can,” Brandon says. “Bet you can too. C’mon. I’ll help.”  
  
Nick takes a breath. He’s not sure about this, but he’s never been a quitter. And besides, if Brandon teaches him, maybe he can actually surprise him with something he likes next time, instead of with a mess.  
  
“Yeah,” Nick says. “Yeah, okay.”  
  
He gets to his feet and wraps his arms around Brandon’s waist, pulling him close. Brandon’s arms settle around him in return. It’s nice. Warm. It always is. It’s hard to feel bad about anything when he has Brandon in his arms.  
  
“Thank you for not–” Nick gives a little shrug. Brandon will know what he means. “Just– thanks.”  
  
He smiles when Brandon presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Anytime.”  
  
Nick breathes a tiny laugh. He appreciates that, too, but, “Hopefully not.” Cleaning up the aftermath of this once is going to be more than enough for him, thanks.  
  
Brandon pauses, going quiet the way he does when he’s trying to work out what he should say. Like he’s worried whatever he’s considering won’t come out like he means it to.  
  
Nick squeezes him tighter, laughs a little more. “You can agree, B. It’s okay.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Brandon pauses, then, half-laughing, “There really is flour _everywhere.”_   Nick groans. Brandon pats his hip consolingly. “Could be worse. At least it’s not eggs.” He pauses again. “Please try not to do this with eggs.”  
  
Nick presses his cheek to Brandon’s shoulder. “No promises,” he mumbles, though Brandon isn’t the only one hoping to avoid _that._  
  
Nick leans against Brandon for another long minute, then they he pulls away. “We should…” he says, and they get to cleaning up, wiping up flour from the counter and the floor and the cabinets and– basically anything that was within range of their mixer. He catches Brandon eyeing him and grinning from time to time, and he’s reminded with each glance that he’s probably wearing as much flour as they’ve cleaned up, but he avoids anything that could show him his reflection. He doesn’t think he wants to know.  
  
It’s bad enough he can see the floury smudge his head left on Brandon’s shirt.  
  
Brandon straightens, stretching, catching Nick’s attention. “Are we finished?” Nick asks, looking around. The kitchen looks– well. It looks less like a blizzard made its merry way through, at least, and the window they cracked has helped with the smell.  
  
“I think so,” Brandon says, but he’s biting his lip when Nick turns back to him. “Can I just…?”  
  
Nick sighs. “Go ahead,” he says, and he holds still as Brandon takes a clean damp cloth to his face and his hair, wiping away the worst of the flour. He’ll still need a shower, but, “Better?”  
  
Brandon nods. There’s laughter in his eyes, mirth carefully controlled. Nick shakes his head but doesn’t comment on it, though he can see the humour in it all now, he guesses. “So,” Nick says. “Cookies?”  
  
“Cookies,” Brandon agrees. “What were you…?”  
  
“Chocolate chip?” Nick says. It comes out as a question, though it shouldn’t have, really. That’s what he’d tried for. He _thought_ they’d be simple. It just– hadn’t worked out.  
  
Brandon nods, nudging Nick towards the counter, towards the bowls and measuring cups they washed and set out to use again.  
Usually Nick’s an observer when Brandon bakes, content to hand Brandon things when he asks for them, but generally just to watch. That’s not what happens this time.  
  
This time Brandon leaves Nick to the recipe, offering advice that isn’t listed on the card. Like, say, to start the mixer on a low speed. He’s snickering as he finishes. Nick feels entirely justified in elbowing him, even if all it does is make Brandon laugh harder.  
  
“You’re the worst,” Nick grumbles, but he doesn’t pull away when Brandon rests an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a brief hug.  
  
“Think these are ready for the oven,” Brandon says, sometime later, when they have two trays done up, ready to bake.  
  
“You think?” Nick asks. They look okay, but so did the last batch. Maybe they _were_ okay, even, until he burnt them.  
  
Brandon nods, gesturing Nick towards the stove. “They’re going to be fine,” he says. “As long as we pay attention to the time.” Nick heaves another sigh. “We can do dishes in the meantime.”  
  
“Great,” Nick says, unenthused, but they get to them, get through them by the time the cookies are done.  
  
Nick eyes them. They look okay, chocolate melted and cookies a perfect golden brown, but–  
  
“What?” Brandon says. “Not going to try ‘em?”  
  
Nick picks one up gingerly – they’re warm, almost too hot – and takes a careful bite.  
  
Their kitchen smells like melted chocolate now, sweet and warm and _good,_ and the cookies– well. The one he’s trying isn’t bad. Not bad at all.  
  
Huh.  
  
“Surprise,” Nick says, gesturing to the trays.  
  
Brandon laughs and picks up a cookie of his own.


End file.
